Page 103 of Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys 1)
“She cheated on him with one of the Fuller football boys. There's nobody Hael hates more.” Callum's voice is low and rough, but in a pleasant sort of way, this husky darkness that traces like velvet across my skin. Curiosity is going to get this kitty killed because I’m dying to know the real story behind Cal’s scars. “They've cheated on each other before, but this is like, last straw shit for him.”
I focus on my coffee and let my eyes wander the crowd, taking in the designer labels, the fancy diamond tennis bracelets, and the think-their-shit-don't stink VSCO girls with their stupid ass Save the Turtles metal water bottles, hair scrunchies, and vacuous facial expressions. If you don't know what a VSCO girl is, Google it. Maybe you'll be as disturbed as I am, having to look at them with their fair-trade coffees in their biodegradable cups. Guess they can save the world with paper straws while still driving gas-guzzling cars, using makeup tested on animals, and calling me an asshole for smoking. Good on them.
“How did he even meet Brittany?” I ask, running my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. “I thought Fuller and Prescott were rival enemies to the bitter end.”
“On the spring break trip last year,” Callum says, eyes darting around the room, taking note of anyone who looks like they might have balls or ovaries big enough to pick a fight with us. We are very clearly the outliers here, dirty Prescott High trash daring to mix with the Fuller elite. They think of themselves as savage royals, but they're nothing but petty cowards and liars. “Prescott High stays on one side of the lake, Fuller on the other. I guess Hael and Brittany got drunk and stumbled on one another.” Cal shrugs his shoulders again, dismantling his entire croissant before he eats it.
I take a sip of my coffee, and I'm pleased to discover that it tastes like dirty dishwater. On the other side of the tracks, in this crappy hole-in-the-wall that uses Styrofoam cups (sorry turtles, I want to save the environment, too, but sometimes socio-economic problems get in the way), that has coffee a hundred times better than this hipster hellhole.
“Brittany's using him to get back at her father,” Callum continues, realizing that Hael's not likely to want his food, seeing as he's white-knuckled, face pale, jaw clenched and shaking over there. Fortunately, Cal takes care of this for him, once again dismantling the croissant before eating it.
“Who's her father?” I ask, and Cal pauses, looking up at me in surprise.
“The chief of police,” he says, and I cock a brow, my hand squeezing so hard on my coffee cup that it dents and hot coffee pours out the top, scalding me. I curse and dab at it with a napkin, thinking about the Springfield police and the depth of their corruption.
“Fantastic.”
Callum and I sit in companionable silence for a while, until the front doors open, and three huge dudes walk in. They're all as big as Vic, and it's clear from moment one that they're looking for trouble.
The guy in front is a bit smaller than the other two, so I figure he's probably the quarterback of the Fuller High football team. Who else could these jerkoffs possibly be? I mean, they’re the total clichéd package—complete with letterman jackets.
“Oh, hey there Prima,” QB-dude says, sauntering over in our direction. He hasn't noticed Hael and Brittany on the other side of the coffee shop. Nah, he's just homing in on the first target he came across. But Prima? What the fuck is that nickname about? “What the hell are you doing on our side of the city, huh?”
Callum takes another sip of his coffee, and I can't help but notice how much smaller he is than even the leader of these thugs. Not good. I'm willing to step in and fight, too, but it's gonna be a tough one.
“Did you hear my question, you trailer park fag—”
Callum's up in an instant and tossing his steaming hot coffee into the guy's face. The scream QB lets out is legendary, stumbling back into his buddies and scratching at his face with his nails. In an equally smooth follow-up, Cal steps forward and throws a perfect right-hook into the guy's face.
The crowd in the café erupts into booing, tossing insults our way and encouraging their own guys to kick some ass. Hael appears from behind the other two football douchebags, on par with their weight class, and sucker punches first one and then the other, knocking them forward and stirring up the chaos. He opens the door to the café and gestures for us to join him.
Snatching both my coffee and Hael's, I get the hell out of there before the rest of the team shows up and we end up outnumbered in enemy territory.
